


Ramona's Records

by goldstandard



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Masturbation, Record store au, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 21:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4538583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldstandard/pseuds/goldstandard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt Murdock doesn't go on to law school. Instead, he opens up a record store.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ramona's Records

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this story took me forever. It's probably the longest thing I've ever written and I think I re-wrote every part of this at least once.
> 
> I'm the only one who looked through this so I apologize for any mistakes.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! XD

Matthew Murdock is nine years old when he pushes an elderly man out of the way of a speeding truck.

Matthew Murdock is nine years old when he is blinded by chemicals.

Matthew Murdock is nine years old when he discovers The Ramones.

His father has a small stack of records sitting next to a rundown record player. The needle is dull and the buttons are sticky with dust but Matt adores the crackles and pops that echo. It reminds him of his father – a bit too old for his profession, a few crackles and pops, but always starts up and never fails to see things through.

When Matt’s father is shot in the alleyway Matt is left with very little. He is given an hour to pack a suitcase almost as tall as him with anything he wants. He remembers grabbing clothes, a stuffed bear his father told him his mother had given him as a baby, and every last record. He pillows the record player in his father’s robes and leaves everything else behind.

At the orphanage, Matt isn’t allowed to play his records. The nuns confiscate them; says they’re the Devil’s music. Matt knows they hid them in the locked office on the main floor. He doesn’t dare get them – it’s not like he could play them, anyways, and this way the other children can’t get their grubby hands on them.

He misses the solitude the music gave him – the static guitars and beating drums – they gave him peace from the otherwise too loud noise from every single thing around him. He tries his best to focus on the hymns and worship songs the nuns sing to them, with them, but it isn’t enough. It isn’t the Devil’s music and the Murdock boys have the Devil in them.

For his eleventh birthday Matt is given twenty dollars and with that money he buys an album by Blindside. The nuns aren’t too thrilled but they don’t argue too much with a band being touted as Christian (although they did try to have him buy a Catholic compilation CD instead). The following day the nuns introduce him to Stick. Two days later, his record is snapped in half by the elderly man with the words, ‘You don’t need a crutch; you need discipline’ ringing in Matt’s ears.

When Stick leaves, Matt breaks into the office on the main floor and grabs the first record he ever listened to – _Rocket To Russia_. In his room, he plugs in his headphones, flips to side two and feels for the groove. The needle drops and the last few seconds of _I Can’t Give You Anything_ filters through the headphones before the guitars push right into _Ramona_.

Matt listens to the album all night until Sister Jessica pushes open the door in the morning and discovers him on the floor. There’s a fight, verbal and physical, that ends with Matt’s hands stinging from a ruler and another record destroyed. He’s told to pray to the rosary and he misses breakfast in order to do so.

He finishes high school without too many more incidents. He gets smarter at hiding his records; the nuns don’t pay as much attention to him. Matt longs for the day he turns 18, for the day he can get out of the orphanage and get access to what’s left of his inheritance. He doesn’t know how much was paid to Stick and hopes there’s enough left for him to achieve his dreams.

At the nun’s insistence, he attends NYU for an undergraduate in Business. Matt tells them he’s aiming to become a lawyer and everyone ‘ooh’s and ‘aww’s over his decision. Many tell him his father would be proud. He doesn’t know about that but lets it slide.

Matt graduates from NYU at the tender age of 24 and doesn’t apply for Columbia Law like he said he would. He doesn’t apply for any law school. Instead, he makes an appointment with his bank’s loan officer and walks out with a pre-approval. Two weeks later, he’s meeting with an intern at Landman & Zack to finalize the deed for the retail space he’s buying.

He opens up his record store, _Ramona’s Records_ , a couple months after that and he finally feels content.

~

“I’m looking for _The Serpent is Rising_ by Styx,” the man in his late 40’s and business suit asks the woman, Karen, behind the counter.

She looks him up and down, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.

“First of all, _Styx?_ Second of all, _The Serpent is Rising_? The worst album ever by the worst band ever? Do we look like we sell shit music?”

Matt feels the heat starting to radiate up the business man’s neck and into his face. Before the man has a chance to start yelling, Matt is pressing the worn down album into Karen’s hand.

“Please, sell this lovely record to this gentleman with a ten percent discount for his troubles.”

Matt sends a grin the man’s way. The man relaxes instantly, blood pressure lowering. He remains calm and happy as Matt wishes him a great day.

As soon as Matt hears the whoosh of air as the door shuts he sighs, “Karen…”

“I don’t know why we carry shit like that, anyways,” Karen states, arms crossed and defensive.

“Because it sells and I have to pay you and keep this place open somehow.” Matt pushes his sunglasses up so he can pinch the bridge of his nose – a headache is starting to form and it’s only eleven in the morning. “Please, just be nicer to the customers.”

Karen huffs, pushes her hair behind her shoulders, and goes back to leaning over the counter to read twitter on her phone.

Matt retreats to the back office, which also acts as home, and throws himself onto the cot he calls a bed. It’s been nine months since he opened shop and while things haven’t been horrible they haven’t been the greatest. He’s scraping by – he had to move out of his apartment as he couldn’t afford the record store and a place to live. Matt’s okay with that. The smell of old records calm him down and it just means he can sleep in until ten minutes before open.

There’s a soft knock on the door and Matt must’ve dozed off as he jerks awake to the sound.

“Yeah,” he calls, voice slightly gravelly from the catnap.

“There’s a man here to see you – from Landman & Zack.” Matt groans internally.

He hated dealing with the law firm – the intern who had been assigned his case was competent enough but she seemed really only interested in possibly sleeping with him. That may work on clients who could see how attractive she was but the heavy perfume and long fingernails tapping away at the table put Matt on edge.

“Be right out,” Matt replies and then, as an afterthought, “Be nice!”

Matt stands up, tries to smooth his hair down so it doesn’t look like he was napping on the job, and steps out of the office.

“You didn’t have to do that,” a man is telling Karen and he’s already an improvement over the other intern. Matt smells strawberries, coffee, and spearmint; shampoo, drink, gum.

“Good morning,” Matt says, hoping it actually still is morning, and extends out a hand as he walks towards the man’s voice.

“Morning,” is the jovial reply and there’s a hand giving a firm handshake. “I told your associate here not to bother you; I’m not here on business or anything.”

“You’re not?” Matt questions and tilts his head curiously. Hair grazes against the man’s shoulder as he shakes his head.

“Nope – I heard from Marci about your store, she was the one who did your paperwork, and I’m looking for a specific album.”

Matt smiles easily. This is what he loves about his job, besides the being able to listen to whatever he wants whenever he wants. He loves helping people find that one album they’ve been searching for.

“Shoot, Mister…” Matt trails off.

“Oh, right, sorry, where are my manners? I’m Foggy Nelson.”

Karen snorts and Matt glares in her direction.

“C’mon, Foggy? What kind of name is that?”

“Karen,” Matt warns but Foggy is laughing.

“Don’t worry about it, I get that a lot. It’s better than Franklin, in my opinion.”

Karen snorts again and ducks behind the counter to change the store’s music and avoid the wrath of Matt.

“I’m Matt, pleasure to meet you Mr. Nelson.”

Foggy insists it’s just Foggy.

“Now, what are you looking for?”

Foggy talks with his hands and Matt enjoys the movement. It’s fluid and dynamic, creating an openly warm persona for the man.

“Well, it’s not too hard to find, but nobody nearby seems to carry it and I just hate online shopping,” Foggy is rambling. “Anyways, it’s _Spirit of Eden_ by Talk Talk.”

Matt hums in knowledge of the record. He’s not sure if they have it but if not he has ways of ordering it.

“Are you looking for the original pressing or the reissue?” Matt questions as he heads behind the counter for their inventory book. It’s all written in his hand, in ink, so it’s easy for him to run fingers over their listings.

Foggy’s heartbeat skips a beat before returning back to its normal, slightly fast, rhythm. Matt assumes it’s because not a lot of people know of Talk Talk, or at least know enough to know there was a reissue.

“At this point, I’ll settle for anything.”

Matt nods and flips in the inventory book to the section labeled with a braille T and runs his fingers down the list. Karen always complains because the ink is all smudged and she has a hard time reading it. The grooves are still there from the pen so it makes no difference to Matt. He also rebuttals with, ‘You know you can just look at the records on the shelves, right Karen?’ and that tends to shut her up.

“Well, you’re in luck. We have an original pressing. Karen, do you mind…?”

Karen clucks her tongue but heads to the proper section to grab the record. Upon returning, she hands it over to Foggy to inspect.

“Did you call about a-“

“Nope,” Foggy interrupts her. There’s silence and Matt is pretty sure they’re making weird faces at each other but Matt can’t figure out why.

“Don’t mind the blind guy,” Matt jokes.

“We won’t,” Karen says as Foggy apologizes.

Foggy focuses his attention to the record - turns it over, pulls the vinyl out of the jacket and then the sleeve. Matt hates it when people do that – they tend to get fingerprints on everything and then Matt spends most of his day going through all the records and cleaning them with his velvet brush. Foggy, however, doesn’t stick his greasy fingers all over the vinyl. He does it the proper way – uses the hole in the middle and keeps his thumb on the edge to pull the vinyl out to inspect.

Matt maybe falls in love a little bit that very moment.

“Looks good to me,” Foggy says and gently places the record back into the sleeve, then the jacket, and hands it over to Karen.

Karen starts punching numbers into their 90s cash register and Matt hears himself saying, “Give him ten percent off.”

Karen stays oddly silent. Foggy starts insisting Matt doesn’t need to do that.

“First purchase discount,” Matt easily lies. “A way to keep you coming back for more.”

Both Karen’s and Foggy’s hearts jump a beat.

“Don’t worry,” Foggy says after clearing his throat. “I’ll be back.”

“Perfect,” Matt says with a grin and starts to head back to the office. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Nelson. I hope we’ll see you again soon.”

Foggy returns the sentiment and then Matt is closing the door to the office and collapsing back onto the cot. He both dreads and looks forward to the next time Foggy is in the store.

~

Growing up, his father didn’t want him to fight. Matt respected that – there had been only one time Matt did fight back. A kid at school had stolen one of his books, an expensive first edition his father had spent the last bit of their money on for Matt’s birthday, and began ripping pages out one by one. Matt hadn’t been able to keep the anger in check and took the boy down easily. His father was furious when Matt returned home with the news. That was the first and last time Jack Murdock ever hit his son. That was the first and last time Matthew Murdock ever fought while his father was alive.

Now, Matt overlooks Hell’s Kitchen dressed head to toe in black with a cowl covering half his face. He’s starting to garner some attention from the media, they call him the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, and despite the length of the title he’s glad it’s not something dumb like Stiltman.

He’s perched on the roof of the neighboring building of Ramona’s Records when he hears the sounds of a fight starting. Matt leaps from one building to the next until he’s leaning over the edge into a back alley. There are four guys, none too beefy, surrounding a portly man. Matt doesn’t take time to really focus on specifics of the victim; instead, his brain is going ‘Four assailants, no guns, knife in the boot of the far left. There’s a fire escape and a dumpster below me.’

Matt jumps down, throws himself off of the fire escape and lands neatly on the dumpster causing enough noise to scare all four guys to swivel and turn their attention on him. A few more calculated moves and the knife from the one guy’s boot is in his hand and the assailants are knocked out.

“Holy shit,” the portly man is saying and Matt turns to him.

“Are you alright?” he asks and then realizes who’s standing in front of him – Foggy.

“Yeah, yeah,” Foggy mutters while feeling up his own body – obviously double checking to make sure he hasn’t been stabbed or something. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Matt replies and goes to leave.

“Wait,” Foggy calls, not reading the signs that Matt doesn’t want to stop for a chat.

Matt doesn’t respond and takes off back up the fire escape where he came from. He waits for Foggy to start heading wherever he was going so Matt can make sure he gets there okay. But Foggy is taking out his cell phone and calling 911 to report the low-level thugs. Matt sticks around until he hears sirens a couple blocks away and knows that Foggy will be safe.

Back at the record store, tucked away in the back office, Matt thinks back to Foggy. He wonders what Foggy was going to say, why Foggy asked him to wait.

Matt shakes the thoughts from his head and starts peeling off the black outfit before lying down to get a couple hours of sleep before he needs to open the store for another day.

~

It’s two weeks before Matt sees Foggy again. This time, thankfully, it’s at the record store and not when Matt is being an illegal vigilante.

“What can I do for you today, Mr. Nelson?”

Matt is behind the counter while Karen is on her lunch break. Matt is grateful for small miracles – Karen had been going on non-stop since the last time Foggy was there. Her constant ‘isn’t Foggy’s hair really nice?’, or ‘doesn’t Foggy have such a lovely laugh?’, or ‘isn’t it weird? We received a phone call asking about the Talk Talk album from someone who sounded just like Foggy a week before he came in’ was starting to wear thin. Matt doesn’t think he could take it if she and Foggy were in the same room together.

“Please, call me Foggy, Matt.”

Matt smiles at the inventory book he’s pouring over, carefully handwriting the new records he just got in stock that morning.

“Alright, Foggy, what can I do for you?”

Foggy clears his throat and just overall seems nervous. Matt can smell the sweat on his palms and at the nape of his neck where long hair brushes against collar. Foggy is fidgeting from one foot to the next and Matt imagines if Foggy had a hat he would be wringing it in his hands.

“I was wondering,” Foggy starts but gets interrupted by the bell above the front door. Foggy seems to jump a bit at the noise.

Matt looks up in Foggy’s general direction and frowns. The person who entered is slowly making her way through the small store towards them. The overly sweet perfume attacks Matt’s nostrils in an annoyingly familiar way.

“Foggy-bear,” says the woman, sickly sweet, and Matt recognizes her as the intern who did his paperwork from Landman & Zack. “Is there where you run off to all the time?”

“Marci,” Foggy hisses. “Have you been following me?”

Matt stands there and observes the two. Marci has her hips cocked, fingernails tapping at her hips, a rough nail catching at the fabric occasionally. Foggy’s shoulders are tense but he seems otherwise calm, prepared for what the woman may say or do.

“I’m just worried about you. We never go for lunch anymore,” Marci says with an exaggerated, almost baby-like voice and it’s like nails on a chalkboard to Matt.

“Sorry, Matt,” Foggy throws towards him and Matt just shrugs – this is probably the most exciting ting the record store has seen in awhile.

“And who do we have here,” Marci purrs and takes a step closer to the counter, which Matt is thankful to be using as a barrier.

“Marci,” Foggy sighs, like a father tired of dealing with his teenage daughters shit. “This is Matt. He’s the one you did the deed paperwork for last year – the record store?”

Marci pauses, possibly thinking – Matt can’t get a read, she seems to lead with her face a lot – and shrugs.

“Sorry, don’t remember. We deal with a lot of clients.” Marci is obviously not sorry. Matt takes no offense.

“Anyways, Foggy,” Marci straightens up a bit. “I actually have some legal matters I need to discuss with you. If you’re not too busy flirting.”

Matt can feel his face getting hot as he listens to Foggy clear his throat.

“Right, legal stuff,” Foggy nods and takes a step away from Matt, closer to Marci and the door. Matt has the urge to tell Marci to fuck off – he may not be able to see the smirk gracing her face but he could sense it from miles away.

“Didn’t you need something, though?” Matt presses, putting his innocent face on – the one that makes the little old ladies pinch his cheeks.

“Oh, I-well-“ Foggy stammers and starts a half step back in Matt’s direction before Marci is tugging on his jacket sleeve.

“Foggy,” Marci says in a low, suave, voice and Matt knows he’s lost from the jump in Foggy’s heartbeat.

“Tomorrow,” Foggy promises and then is following Marci out the front door, passing Karen as he does so.

“Hello Matt,” Karen says as she puts her new cup of coffee out of sight behind the counter. “What was that about?”

“I don’t really know.” Matt frowns and starts to replay the encounter over in his mind.

 “Well, did he actually buy something this time?” Karen asks.

“What do you mean _this time_?”

Karen tuts, or what Matt imagines Karen’s version of tutting would be, and ignores Matt’s question.

“I’m going to go re-organize the jazz section.”

Matt wants her to explain but he isn’t going to complain too loudly because Karen is actually working instead of taking a billion pictures for snapchat and that’s a small miracle.

~

Matt sometimes thinks in songs. He likes to put lists of songs together in his head. Nothing spectacular, he isn’t one of those people who shove mixtapes onto people, but it’s something nice to think about. The arrangement of songs can be beautiful.

He doesn’t have the newest computer technology and what he does have doesn’t always comply with iTunes so most of his mixes just live in his head. He’s alright with that – they’re his little secret.

When he’s out being the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen sometimes he runs mixes through his head. He doesn’t remember all the words to all the songs but the melody is generally there. Most of the time his vigilante music is on the punk/hardcore end of the spectrum. He grew up a punk kid at heart, after all, and the music tends to lend itself better to beating people up.

However, he also does this thing he hates where every song becomes about someone he’s interested in. There’s always one line or one guitar riff that screams that person to him and he just wants to announce it from the rooftops, yell it at them so they understand. But, he also never seems interested in people who care. And if they do, they’re so snobbish about their music tastes that if he mentions how that one Green Day song reminds him of them they scrunch up their faces in disgust and go ‘Ew’.

Foggy is currently that person. Matt wishes he wasn’t – he’s only spoken to the guy three times but that’s usually more than enough for Matt. You’re either overly offensive to his heightened senses or you’re tolerable. That’s why he hired Karen – a secretary who was fired from her last job. She was the only person who came in with a resume that he could actually stand being around for more than five minutes. And Foggy? Foggy was more than perfect.

~

Matt sits on the counter at work, cross-legged, lost in his thoughts of Foggy and music. The song playing is sticky like honey backed up by a raspy British man singing. It’s exactly how his brain feels at three in the afternoon on a Friday, right before the after school rush he sometimes gets.

Karen is scribbling away on a post-it note to the left of Matt’s knee.

“How does this sound,” Karen says to Matt and the otherwise empty store at large. “My name is Karen. I work at a record store. I enjoy listening to music, watching Netflix, and drinking.”

Matt waits for more and when nothing comes he’s a bit off put.

“That’s it? _That_ took you an hour to write?”

“Look,” Karen throws back at him. “I will have you know I am a very complicated person and it is hard to put that into words.”

“You should put that in your profile,” Matt mutters and returns to the Braille version of NME he was pretending to read.

Karen hums in agreement and starts scribbling down what she just said. An hour or two previously she had declared that she needed a boyfriend or girlfriend or just someone in general to have sex with but there was nobody around worth screwing. Matt had suggested Tinder and Karen had started fake vomiting. She settled on the suggestion of a dating website and got started on her profile, specifically trying to write the _About Me_ section.

The bell above the door tinkles as it opens and lets in some of the humid air from outside. It was starting to head into summer months and Matt was immensely enjoying the air-conditioned store. Matt is a little engrossed in the article he’s reading about the effects of free music streaming services on the music industry as a whole so he doesn’t pay attention to whoever entered until they’re standing right next to him.

 “Hello, Matt,” comes Foggy voice and Matt almost topples off the counter in his hurry to look more professional.

“Oh, Foggy, hello,” Matt says with a grin and he can practically feel Karen rolling her eyes. “To what do I-uh, we-To what do _we_ owe the pleasure?”

Foggy is fidgeting just like the last time he had graced Matt with his presence. Matt hopes it doesn’t end the same way.

“I was wondering if you had time for a coffee.”

Matt’s grin falters.

“Oh, uh, we can’t – have to keep the store open.”

Karen hisses out the corner of her mouth, “I don’t think I’m invited, Murdock.”

Matt can feel the blush warming up his neck and cheeks when he realizes what is actually happening. However, before he can amend what he says Foggy is backing up, stuttering some apologizes.

“No, no, wait,” Matt gets out in a rush. “I’d love to go. Karen can take care of the store, right Karen?”

And if Matt glares in her direction then so be it.

“Go, have delicious coffee and scones and-” she lowers her voice to a whisper so only Matt can hear. “Sugary kisses.”

Matt hates and loves Karen at the same time. For now, he ignores her and joins Foggy.

“Lead the way!” he says cheerfully and grabs the cane propped up beside the front door.

~

“So, you’re a lawyer?” Matt asks after they settle down at a table at a nearby coffee shop.

“Law student,” Foggy supplies. “First year at Columbia.”

Matt almost chokes on his coffee.

“You’re a first year and you’re _already_ interning at Landman  & Zack?” Matt is impressed to say the least.

“Oh, well,” Foggy begins, and Matt senses a red heat overcoming his face. “I’d love to say it’s as hard as Legally Blonde makes it seem but it’s really not.”

 “So, you’re not the male version of Elle Woods?”

Foggy laughs and it’s very nice, very soothing.

“I’m blonde, I’m beautiful, and I do love a pink shirt but I am definitely not in Elle’s league.”

Matt grins and picks at the lemon poppy seed muffin on the plate in front of him.

“Anyways, they offer internships to first and second years. It’s a bit harder to get in as a first year but Marci gave me a good reference. She’s in her second year and interned with them last summer.”

“Marci seems,” Matt pauses and smiles wryly. “Interesting.”

Foggy laughs and nods quickly in agreement.

“I don’t think interesting is the word I would use – evil, conniving, bitch, maybe?”

Matt blinks at the bluntness of Foggy’s words.

“Oh,” Foggy quickly adds, sensing Matt’s discomfort. “Those are her words. I think they might even be on her business card.”

“How long have you two been together?”

Foggy coughs on his what seems to be his own spit.

“No, no, we’re not-“ Foggy frantically shakes his head. “We’re definitely not dating. Hooked up last year once or twice but definitely not dating.”

Something grows warm in Matt’s chest at Foggy’s statement.

“Huh,” Matt ponders and then adds, “You know, I almost went to Columbia to become a lawyer.”

Foggy inhales a bit too sharply on his coffee and Matt needs to work on his timing.

“You were going to be a lawyer? And you gave it up to open a record store?”

Matt hears the doubt in Foggy’s voice – it’s a familiar sound to Matt by this point. The nuns, old friends, they all had the same doubt layered in when they found out he wasn’t going to be attending law school.

“Well, you know,” Matt half shrugs and fiddles with the cardboard sleeve on the to-go coffee cup. “Music speaks to me.”

“Sorry, buddy,” Foggy says and Matt can tell he’s being extremely honest right now. “I didn’t mean to – it’s just – Lawyers are kind of cold hearted dicks who suck the soul out of everyone so it just seems so opposite spectrum.”

“But, you want to be a lawyer. You’re none of those things.”

“Not to people I like,” Foggy mutters into his coffee cup and they both decide to leave that conversation there.

They fall into an easy silence and Matt enjoys just listening. He listens to Foggy’s heartbeat, to the shuffle of clothing with every shift Foggy makes. Then he focuses further out, to the soft murmur of people around them, to the hiss off the coffee machine, to water rushing through plumbing.

“Are you enjoying it? Being a lawyer?”

Foggy is quieter than normal, even his fidgeting has ceased.

“Sorry,” Matt interjects before Foggy says a word. “I was just wondering.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s-“ Foggy sighs. “It’s definitely taxing. But, I’m still in school so that’s a lot of stress plus Landman & Zack are corporate law – I want to become a defense attorney.”

Matt smiles softly.

“That’s very noble of you.”

Foggy barks out a laugh.

“As noble as a lawyer can get, I suppose, outside of doing only pro-bono work but who can survive on that?”

Matt hums in agreement and idly runs his finger over his watch.

“Sorry, Foggy, I need to be heading back.” Matt frowns and hopes Foggy understands how much he doesn’t want to leave. “Karen gets a little upset when I take a long lunch.”

Foggy chuckles and stands when Matt does. Matt still can’t quite get over how much Foggy laughs. He seems to be perpetually cheerful, his whole body moving with his laughter. If Matt were more of a romantic he would say he was falling head over heels for the delightful man.

“Aren’t you the boss?”

Matt rolls his eyes and heads towards the lineup, figuring he’ll placate Karen with a cup of her favourite drink.

“Some days I wonder,” Matt rebuttals with a smile and Foggy shifts beside him as if he wants to say something but doesn’t have the guts to do it.

“Did you want anything for the road?” Matt asks Foggy as he reaches the counter and places the order for Karen’s london fog.

“No, thanks,” Foggy mutters.

As they stand off to the side, waiting for the drink to come up, Matt takes the plunge.

“Look, Foggy, I was wondering if you’d like to-“ Matt is interrupted by the shrill ringing of a phone in Foggy’s pocket.

Foggy swears but dutifully pulls the phone out and answers with a terse, “Nelson.”

Matt tries not to be invasive and listen in on the phone call but the woman’s voice is a bit shrill and sounds a bit frantic. Foggy’s heartbeat is growing faster and Matt guesses some emergency back at the office.

“Sorry,” Foggy apologizes as he ends the phone call. “I have to get back, something’s gone wrong with the deposition so I need to-“

“No problem,” Matt replies, nods towards the door. “Go, be an awesome lawyer.”

Foggy grins and is halfway through the coffee shop before he’s turning back to Matt.

“Can I see your phone?”

Matt hesitates but hands it over. He listens to the clacking the phone makes with every tap and then the woman’s voice reading out what’s being pressed.

“Well, I wanted that to be a little bit more sly but,” and Foggy shrugs as he hands back the phone. “I’m guessing you’ve already figured out I put my phone number in there. Text me, if you want.”

Then, the barista is calling out Matt’s name and Foggy’s hurrying out the door without another word. Matt is kind of torn between grabbing the drink and hurrying after Foggy. The barista calls out his name and drink order again, a little more annoyed, and Matt makes his decision.

~

“Mmm,” Karen hums as she takes a sip of the drink. “Nummy tea.”

Matt chuckles as she begins singing under breath about how wonderful Matt and caffeine is, especially caffeine.

“So, anything happen?” Karen wheedles as she rings through some fifteen old year kid and his selection of records.

Matt half shrugs and tries to hide his face in the inventory book.

“Are you high?” Karen asks the kid as he dumps a bunch of change onto the glass counter. “You’re counting that out, buddy.”

The kid stammers out some vowels before slowly counting and piling up the change into towers. Matt taps his pen along to the song softly playing in the background – something by Marina and the Diamonds – while thinking back to coffee with Foggy. It was pleasant, one of the best coffee dates he’s had, and he got Foggy’s number out of it. But now he needed to navigate the weird ‘I want to text him right away but not seem too desperate but show I’m interested and not just toying with him’ dance. He needed an expert – he needed Karen.

“Look,” Karen starts as she organizes the coins into the register and the boy is walking away. “Just tell me what happened.”

So, Matt recounts the coffee date and at the end of it Karen smacks Matt in the arm.

“Ow,” he whines. “What was that for?”

“For being an idiot,” she replies and then turns to the back of the store. “If you don’t put that record back within the next ten seconds I am going to call your parents.”

Matt senses the spike in a heartbeat back there and then listens to the sounds of a record jacket against an actual jacket and is more than thankful for Karen’s eagle eye when it’s busy. Sometimes it’s hard for him to try and focus on every single person at once. The nervous heartbeat rushes by him and through the front door.

“He put it back,” he supplies to Karen who is reaching for the telephone.

“Good,” she huffs. “Damn kids, think they can take whatever they want.”

Karen sidles up beside Matt where he’s leaning over the counter. She bumps their shoulders together.

“Drinks tonight? We’ll talk boys.”

Matt laughs and nods. He could use a night off and drinking with Karen always ends in a good time.

Karen gives Matt’s forearm a small squeeze and then she’s marching over to an older gentleman by the classical records to berate him for touching the vinyl itself.

Karen hadn’t known too much about records when she first started working for Matt. She knew music very well but she grew up with cassettes and CDs. Her parents had a few records but mostly 8-tracks. Matt loved to teach the ways of wax and Karen greedily learned everything she could. Matt was grateful for the way Karen navigated life, forceful and hungry but also very charming and open. She knew what to tell you and how to tell it without pussyfooting around. Matt admired her and some days was amazed that she was his best friend.

“Matt,” Karen is calling from across the store, interrupting Matt’s thoughts. “Don’t we have any Neutral Milk Hotel?”

~

“So, what are you afraid of, exactly?” Karen questions as she sips her beer.

The two of them are sitting on the couch at the back of the record store. It’s nearing midnight and they’re well on their way to being more than a bit tipsy at this point. Matt declined a bar, hates the persona he feels he needs to put on when out in a crowded place, so they holed themselves up in the store with a couple of six packs.

“Looking desperate, mainly, but also being rejected.”

Karen hums and pokes Matt in the stomach with a bare foot. She’s sprawled across the couch, her legs resting on Matt’s lap.

“You won’t seem desperate at all – I’ve seen the way he looks at you like you’re the next coming.” Matt can feel the blush rising on his cheeks. “And he gave you his phone number without getting one in return – he should be the one fearing rejection.”

Karen is right, as always. Matt echoes the sentiment out loud. She just laughs and agrees in response.

Some song by The Chainsmokers comes on over the speakers – Karen had plugged her iPod in when they first got settled in. Matt scrunches his nose up a bit at her, who smacks him.

“Don’t say a word – I know you secretly love this song.”

And Matt kind of does but he likes bugging Karen even more.

“What do I text him?”

Karen sighs and holds out her hand.

“No,” Matt says quite firmly.

“Give me the phone, Matthew.”

“No.”

“Matthew Michael Murdock.”

“No,” Matt repeats, this time a bit lower and more gravelly. Karen just laughs at him.

“Okay, _Daredevil_ – give me your fucking phone.”

Matt hesitates.

“Fine,” he grits out and starts to hand the phone over but pulls it back for a second. “Text-to-speech stays on.”

Karen grabs the phone out of mid-air and agrees.

~

_Matt pauses in the middle of climbing through the office window. There’s another heartbeat in the store. Someone stumbles into the magazine rack and swears at it. Somebody broke into his store._

_Pissed off, Matt climbs the rest of the way in. He slowly makes his way through the open office door into the main area and crouches down beside one of the record stands. He listens to the shuffling of shoes on the carpet, their steady heartbeat, and then the smell hits him – it’s lilacs and oranges – it’s Karen._

_“Karen?” he says a lot louder than he meant to. Karen’s heart spikes as she trips over her own feet into the magazine rack again. This time it falls over with her on top of it. She swears like a sailor._

_Matt pulls the cowl off his face and stuffs it in his jeans pocket. He rushes over to her to make sure she’s okay._

_“What are you doing here?” he questions while grabbing onto her hand to pull her up._

_“What are_ you _doing here?” she hisses at him and shakes off his helping hand._

_“This is my store –_ what _are you doing_ here _?” Then Matt pauses and takes a step back. “Are you_ robbing _me?”_

_He had hired Karen the first week his store opened. She had come in, a bit nervous but mostly overconfident, and handed over her resume. It was typed so Matt asked her to go through everything line by line. When they came across her past employment she hesitated over the last employer – Union Allied._

_“I was fired,” she whispered, that confidence no longer anywhere to be found. Matt prodded her until she said it was due to her whistle blowing on her boss embezzling money. She wasn’t lying and she smelled like something sweet from his past, his childhood, so he hired her on the spot._

_Now, she was fucking_ robbing _him._

_“I am_ not _robbing you,” is her response, harsh and defensive but truthful._

_“Then I’m going to ask for the third time and you better tell me the truth –_ what are you doing here _?”_

_“Look, I-“ and that confidence that makes her shoulders square is gone again. “I can’t go home. I just wanted to crash on the couch for a bit.”_

_“You can’t go home?”_

_Karen sighs and finally accepts Matt’s hand in getting to her feet._

_“Look, if you want to discuss this, can we turn a light on? And do you have any beer?”_

_Matt nods, realizes she can’t see it in the dark, and voices his agreement. He forgets what he’s wearing when the light switch is flicked on until Karen gasps._

_“What the fuck?!” she screeches and punches him in the shoulder._

_“Hey! What the fuck?”_

_“You’re the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen!”_

_Matt freezes._

_“Oh, fuck.”_

_They spend the rest of the night drinking and talking about each other’s revelations. Matt tells her about his heightened senses; Karen tells him about the man attacking her in her own apartment the week before. Karen understands as best as she can about Matt’s predicament; Matt is thankful Karen’s brother had been in town visiting or else she might not be sitting there with him._

_Karen gets a couple hours sleep on the cot – she doesn’t question at that point in time why it’s there – while Matt opens the store. Matt feels a small portion of weight lift from his shoulders. He now has someone to share the secret part of his life with._

~

“Don’t you dare send that, you motherfu-“

“Ah, ah, ah,” Karen interrupts sweetly. “Language, Matthew. What would Sister Jessica say?”

“Probably nothing,” Matt pouts into his beer bottle. “She was more fond of a ruler.”

Karen pauses. Matt makes the most of her distraction and grabs the phone out of her hand, beer sloshing onto the couch a bit.

“Message sent,” says the text-to-speech female, Hannah, and Matt wants to cry.

“Holy shit,” Karen breathes and Matt wholeheartedly agrees.

They sit in silence for a couple minutes and then his phone is talking again.

“Text message received from Foggy.”

“I’m going to die,” Matt mutters, not able to bring himself to check the reply.

“No you’re not. You’re going to be fine.” Matt can hear the wariness in Karen’s voice.

“Whatever he says I’m just going to reply Jay-Kay.”

Karen shoves him with her foot.

“You will not – you will be an adult about this.”

“I just texted him that I wanted to have his babies and did he want to come over and bang.”

Karen shrugs.

“Maybe he’s into that kind of thing.”

Matt bites the bullet and taps on his phone to listen to the message.

“Hahaha are you drunk?” reads out Hannah. “If so, you have impeccable texting abilities.”

Matt sighs in relief – Foggy thinks he’s drunk, which he is, but Foggy thinks his text is due to drunkenness not Karen’s crazy brain.

“Oh thank you baby Je-“

“Text message received from Foggy.”

Karen looks at Matt; Matt points his useless eyes in the direction of the phone.

“Where are you?”

“Oh my God!” Matt exclaims and throws the phone at Karen who tries to catch it with her free hand and boobs. “He wants to fuck! What do I do?”

Karen starts laughing so hard she had to put her drink down on the ground in fear of spilling it everywhere.

“Do you listen to yourself when you speak? You are hilarious. I want to write a sitcom about your life.”

“Karen,” Matt stresses. “This is not the time to be thinking up sitcom premises despite how awesome they may be.”

Karen gets herself under enough control to start typing a reply on Matt’s behalf.

“I’m at the record store,” Karen says out loud over Hannah narrating every character typed. “You should come over.”

“Message sent,” Hannah confirms and Matt kind of wants to strangle the bodiless voice – she is not making this situation any easier.

“I can’t believe you,” Matt says weakly and wishes a hole would magically open and swallow him up. “You are the worst best friend ever.”

“But the best wingman,” Karen says cheerfully.

Hannah indicates another message received. “Seriously?” is all it reads.

“Yeesss,” Karen elongates the word as she types and sends it back.

“You’re the Devil, aren’t you? You tempt me with your sin,” Matt says very seriously.

Karen laughs and finishes up her beer.

“I believe that is you, my little Daredevil.”

Matt frowns as her legs move from his lap and she stands up.

“I hate that name – why did they need to give me a new name, anyways?”

That morning’s paper had declared him as Daredevil and Karen thought it was the funniest thing in the entire world.

“It’s your fault – you’re the one who got a new costume and put Devil horns on it.”

“It was supposed to be funny – a poke at the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. I didn’t think they’d change the name. I’m not Spiderman or Iron Man or anything.”

Karen slips her heels on and stretches her arms up to the ceiling, leaning to each side and cracking her back. Matt’s shoulders hunch in on themselves instinctively at the air pockets releasing and bones grinding against each other and meniscus. He had never gotten used to the sounds the human body makes – most of them were disgusting.

“You’re better than them,” Karen adds, cheerleading him like she always does. “Anyways, I better head off.”

“Wait, why?”

Karen is giving him a look; he knows she is.

“Unless you’re looking for a kinky threesome which, no thanks, I’m not sticking around to watch and or listen to you get boned.”

Matt remembers the texts only sent and received a few minutes previous and starts panicking.

“Oh no, Foggy’s coming here. Holy shit, Foggy is coming here for a booty call.”

Karen wobbles on her heels as she laughs.

“Seriously, Murdock, a fucking sitcom.”

Then, Karen is letting herself out the front door, closing up the gates behind her, and Matt listens from inside until he hears her catch a cab.

It’s quiet in the store all by himself – Karen took her ipod – so to distract himself he maneuvers to the counter to put on something. He runs his fingers over the edges of a stack of CD’s – the Braille labels peeling slightly at the ends. He finds his copy of Paul Simon’s _Graceland_ and happily puts it in the stereo.

Matt settles back on the couch, nursing a beer, right leg jiggling anxiously, letting the music wash over him. Graceland was a staple in his father’s household. Matt remembers it always playing in the background on hot, summer days as he helped his father fix this or that in the apartment. The feeling of nostalgia, and the happy memories of his father, allows him to pass the time quickly until his phone is alerting him of a new message.

“I’m outside. How do I get in?”

Matt doesn’t bother replying. Instead, he makes his way to the front, unlocks the door and pulls back the gate. He steps aside for Foggy to enter and feels the brush of an old track jacket rub against his bare arm. Foggy smells of his usual self with a hint of cigarette smoke, whiskey, and sweat. Matt wonders if he just came from a bar – maybe he’s had a few drinks and that made him more agreeable to Matt’s texts.

Locking up the gate and door, Matt turns and Foggy hasn’t moved very far in. He’s taking the place in, really taking it in and not just the cursory glance he’s always given it before.

“Is this Paul Simon?”

Matt’s grin is a little looser than normal and he nods as he makes his way further into the store. He hears Foggy’s shoes squeak against the carpet, following him.

“Would you like a beer?”

“Sure,” Foggy says and they keep moving into the back office.

Matt feels inside the fridge to grab two beers and counts two left behind. Him and Karen went through more than he had thought. He twists the caps off each bottle and passes one to Foggy. They clink the necks together and take a sip.

“So, babies, huh?” Foggy suddenly says, startling Matt into choking on his beer.

“Sorry about that,” Matt coughs out and tries to get his breathing under control. “Karen typed it up and in my attempt to wrestle the phone from her I accidentally sent it and here we are.”

Foggy laughs and is slowly circling, taking in the back office and it must be dark, Foggy must not be able to see much. The only lights on in the store are the ones overhead the couch.

“And you really do live here?”

Matt ducks his head and proceeds to walk past Foggy towards the couch without saying anything.

“It’s okay if you do,” Foggy adds and Matt knows he’s not lying but it doesn’t make the situation any less embarrassing. Matt wants to be worthy of Foggy but someone who has to live on a cot in the back of a store doesn’t deserve a guy like Foggy.

“Did you get the emergency sorted out?” Matt asks, deflecting.

Foggy snorts and takes a seat on the couch. Matt does the same, leaning into it and relaxing. Foggy’s presence had sobered him up briefly but the alcohol was starting to catch up with him.

“Yeah, wasn’t too crazy. Just people not knowing what to do and panicking.”

Matt makes a noise in acknowledgement and tries to focus in on the music playing not Foggy’s heartbeat or smell or the way their arms brush together and leave a tingling sensation on Matt’s skin.

“Sorry,” Matt says and picks at the beer bottle label. “This is weird.”

“Not at all,” Foggy says cheerfully. “Okay, maybe a little bit, but I’m glad you texted me even if it was a drunk booty call.”

Matt laughs and Foggy joins in. They sit in silence after their giggles have calmed down. They drink their beer and sit there comfortably.

“I don’t know if you were expecting anything, or-“ Matt begins, clearing his throat nervously.

“No, no, Matt,” Foggy hastily interrupts. “No expectations. I honestly was glad you texted and extremely happy you wanted to see me again.”

“I always want to see you again, Foggy,” Matt whispers and listens to the stutter in Foggy’s heartbeat before it begins pounding.

“Stop me if you think you’ve heard this one before,” Foggy mutters and then his hand is on Matt’s cheek, so soft and a bit callused on the index finger and thumb.

Foggy turns Matt’s head to face him and then, just as soft as his skin, closed lips press against Matt’s. Matt clenches his hand not holding the beer bottle and wants to touch but can’t get his brain to send out the proper signals.

Matt is the first one to pull away and Foggy’s hand drops from his face.

“I’m sorry,” Foggy is saying, reading Matt wrong.

Matt puts his beer on the ground and turns his body for a better angle to face Foggy. And then he’s pressing their lips together, a little more hurried and frantic, and he wants to taste Foggy not just smell or feel him. He darts his tongue out to press against Foggy’s lips and they’re parting and Matt is now tasting the coffee and whiskey and the soft hint of chocolate from some sweet Foggy ate earlier in the day.

It’s amazing and Matt wants to burrow into Foggy and never let go. He’s shoving Foggy at an awkward angle to try to get more skin touching skin. His hands roam Foggy’s arms, catching on the horrible track jacket fabric and he needs to get that off. Matt lets out a small growl and starts for the zipper. Foggy pulls at the back of Matt’s shirt, brushing his fingers against skin, and Matt arches into the touch.

Foggy’s legs are pressed between the couch and Matt. It’s not very comfortable so Matt shifts, trying to move in a coordinated manner so they can maybe end up lying on the couch together. Instead, his legs swing out and kick over his beer.

“Shit,” Matt mutters as he pulls away, breathing just as hard as Foggy. He hears the glug-glug of the beer onto the carpet and he swears again. He’s a bit too dazed to pull too far away from Foggy and not synchronized enough to even grab the bottle, he’s pretty sure, and maybe he could just leave it to soak in and stain. It would be a memory he couldn’t forget.

Foggy sits up and the motion pushes Matt off him and onto the other side of the couch. Foggy picks up the bottle between index and thumb fingers.

“Got any paper towels?” he asks and Matt doesn’t know how he’s forming sentences at this point.

“Uh, the back,” Matt manages weakly and waves at the office. Foggy leaves and comes back within thirty seconds to press paper towels into the carpet to soak. Dab not rub.

“Sorry, sorry,” Matt says as his brain finally catches up to what’s going on. “Let me.”

He joins Foggy on his hands and knees on the ground to begin soaking up the mess. The yeast is filling Matt’s nostrils and drowning out Foggy and Matt’s glad they’re cleaning it up. He doesn’t want anything to ever cover up the smell of Foggy.

They assess the damage after a minute or two and Foggy declares it’s the best it’s going to get without a professional cleaner.

Matt sits back on his knees and frowns.

“Sorry about this,” he waves lamely. “I think I’m a lot drunker than I thought.”

He doesn’t add that it’s a mix of drunk off Foggy and alcohol because thankfully his brain to mouth filter is still intact and he’s pretty sure that’s not a good thing to say right now.

Foggy is grinning at him and Matt’s heart aches at the thought that he can’t see it – he wants nothing more in this moment than to see that smile instead of being able to sense it from the sound of lips moving, of hair brushing around Foggy’s cheeks.

“Well, let’s get you to bed then,” Foggy offers as he’s standing and reaching down to help Matt to his own feet. Foggy begins leading Matt to the office.

“Join me?” Matt asks and there goes his brain to mouth filter. He feels Foggy’s steps clutter together and Matt jostles slightly against Foggy from it. “Just sleep, I would just like.”

He doesn’t finish the thought and Foggy continues moving.

“I don’t think we’ll both fit on that tiny cot you got back there.”

Foggy is so smart, so reasonable, so amazing. Foggy is laughing so Matt thinks he said all of that out loud. If he did, Foggy doesn’t mention it. He just deposits Matt onto the cot and Matt doesn’t let go of his hold on the jacket sleeve.

“Please?” he begs a bit. He can sense Foggy caving a bit if the sigh is any indication.

They somehow manage to find a fairly comfortable way to lie on the cot – Matt curled around Foggy like a sloth to a tree branch. Matt passes out fairly quickly to Foggy’s steady heartbeat and soft fingers drawing patterns on Matt’s back.

~

They wake up the next morning to Karen calling Matt’s name from the front of the store. More specifically she’s stomping around and yelling about not wanting to see two naked dudes spooning so they better get dressed soon.

Matt wipes the drool from his lips and awkwardly pats at the wet spot he left on Foggy’s shirt.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s cool,” Foggy whispers back and Matt can sense no trace of regret or awkwardness in his voice.

Matt has no idea how they managed to curl up on the cot together because it’s a task and a half trying to climb off Foggy without tipping the whole thing over. It’s a close call on the tipping but both of them are standing unscathed – or at least unscathed from the cot. Matt’s head is pounding something fierce.

“Thanks for coming over last night,” Matt says, still whispering. Karen doesn’t have ears like Matt but he swears she can hear everything that goes on in their tiny store.

“Thank you for drunk texting me,” Foggy replies and then presses chapped lips against Matt’s own, sticky from sleep and drool.

Matt restrains himself from full body shoving Foggy into the desk and having his wicked way with him right there. He does make the kiss a bit more heated, adds a little tongue, and feels Foggy’s hands card through his hair.

“Boys,” Karen’s voice from the doorway cuts through everything and they jump apart as if burned. “There’s coffee and muffins.”

Matt listens to Karen as she moves away – the swish of jean-clad thighs against one another – back to the front of the store.

“Dinner?” Foggy asks. “Tonight? My treat.”

Matt nods and doesn’t bother trying to hide the easy grin stuck on his face.

“Text me the time and place – I’ll be there.”

~

Karen spends the day, as soon as Foggy leaves the store, alternating between questioning Matt about everything that happened (“We kissed, I spilled beer, we went to bed. To _sleep_ , Karen.”) and teasing him by making kissy noises.

Foggy texts him around 3pm with the name of a restaurant a couple blocks outside Hell’s Kitchen and asks if they could meet there. Matt wants to refuse; he’s been stood up in this exact same way before. Foggy messages that it’s closer to the office and another lawyer emergency has come up so it would just be easier. Matt wants to trust Foggy so he agrees.

The restaurant is a local Italian place that Matt actually has heard of before. He arrives a few minutes early but is surprised, after mentioning he’s meeting someone, when the hostess brings him over to a table with Foggy already situated at it.

“You’re early,” Matt comments after the hostess has left and he’s settled in his own seat at the table.

“Better than late,” Foggy replies happily and Matt gives him that on top of a soft smile.

The rest of the night goes fairly well. Foggy talks up a storm, telling hilarious stories of law school and his life in general. Matt tries his best to interject with a story or two of his own but finds himself enthralled by Foggy.

“Sorry,” Foggy says, finishing up the last of his risotto. “I talk a lot so feel free to tell me to shut up at any point.”

Matt can feel Foggy’s leg bouncing underneath the table and hears his fingers playing with the napkin placed on his lap.

“Don’t worry,” Matt answers. “I like listening to your voice.”

Foggy’s fingers still but his leg keeps going. He places his elbows on the table and he leans forward a bit. Matt listens to the exhale as Foggy opens his mouth to speak.

“I want to hear about you – I feel like I just talked a lot about myself,” Foggy says with a small chuckle.

“Oh,” Matt replies, ducks his head with a blush. “There’s not much to know.”

“Well,” Foggy says and leans back, elbows leaving the tabletop but the lower portion of his arms brush the tablecloth and his fingers stay there, tapping lightly as he thinks. “Did you grow up around here?”

“Born and raised.”

There’s a couple seconds of silence as he imagines Foggy is raising an eyebrow, waiting for Matt to elaborate. Matt would never call himself a conversationalist.

“Hell’s Kitchen? New York? Planet Earth?” Foggy presses and Matt laughs.

“Hell’s Kitchen. Grew up with my father until he,” Matt pauses but pushes on. “He passed away when I was eleven.”

Foggy’s fingers twitch and Matt wonders if he was going to reach for Matt’s hand, which is sitting on the table beside his empty plate.

“I’m sorry,” Foggy solemnly says and Matt nods in acceptance. He never gets used to people apologizing for his father’s death, like they could have done something, but he learned in the mandatory counseling sessions that people often don’t know how to react besides offering condolences.

“So,” Foggy says, licking his lips and swallowing, hesitant. “Where did you go after that?”

Matt picks at the tablecloth and half shrugs.

“Catholic orphanage.”

“Oh, you’re Catholic?”

Foggy clings to the religious thing to get them off the topic of Matt’s tragic childhood. Matt eagerly goes with him.

They stray into pop culture, books and movies or television shows they’ve both enjoyed for different reasons, as dessert is ordered.

“I haven’t read a book for pleasure in years – I think undergraduate and law school have beaten that out of me.”

Matt laughs and pokes his chocolate mousse with a spoon.

“I mostly listen to audiobooks – I actually just finished one called The Psychopath Test.”

Foggy makes noises in all the right places as Matt explains the premise of the book. For someone who talks a lot, he is definitely an expert listener as well.

“Well, that book sounds vaguely terrifying. I’d be trying to diagnose myself in seconds.”

“The audiobook is what makes it though because it’s the author who narrates and it’s this jolly, severely neurotic, British guy and it just,” Matt can’t stop laughing and he thinks maybe it was all that wine they had. “It adds a whole other element.”

Foggy is laughing along, a little messily, and Matt thinks they actually finished the whole bottle and Foggy did order the tiramisu.

“We will have to listen to it together, sometime.”

Matt’s face is heating up as he ducks his head a bit. He likes the idea of seeing Foggy again and loves that Foggy wants to spend more time with him.

“We definitely will. I will open up a whole new world for you – mostly filled with audiobooks and voice overs.”

“I look forward to it.”

Matt imagines they are just sitting there, smiling goofily at each other, as their desserts sit half-eaten between them.

The waitress eventually comes by with the bill, the customary ‘whenever you’re ready’ falling from her lips but Foggy is already pulling out his wallet to pay. Matt offers to be polite and Foggy shushes him.

“My treat, remember?”

They finish up the last of their drinks and return to the outside world. It rained while they were in the restaurant. Matt smells the cool, damp concrete as soon as the door of the restaurant slides open. Awkwardly, they stand outside and shift on their feet.

“Do you live far?” Matt asks.

“Oh, no,” Foggy coughs. “I-I don’t.”

Matt realizes how that sounds.

“Oh, no, I just wondered if you were going to catch a cab or-or-“ Matt trails off, shrugging.

“Would you like to come over for some coffee?”

Matt stops breathing.

“Matt?”

He feels Foggy’s fingers lightly graze the cuff of Matt’s leather jacket, the back of his hand, and brings Matt back. He takes a sharp breath in and nods.

“Yes, sure,” and if he sounds a bit strangled he’ll chalk it up to the car exhaust.

“Great,” Foggy replies excitedly. “Do you need me to…?”

Foggy is jutting his elbow out slightly and Matt nods.

“Sure, thanks.” Matt follows Foggy’s fingers, still touching his cuff, up his arm and to the crook of his elbow.

Foggy begins to lead, half a step in front of Matt, and Matt’s impressed.

“You have many blind friends?” Matt asks.

“Sorry?”

“You’re good at this – you know how to lead.”

“Oh, yeah, I,” Foggy’s heartbeat spikes for a second. “I googled how to, not gonna lie.”

Matt laughs and nods.

“Oh, the great Google.”

“The all-powerful, almighty Google,” Foggy hisses at him. “Don’t let the overlords hear you talking like that.”

Matt keeps laughing and Foggy easily joins in. Matt forgets where they’re heading, enjoying the company, until Foggy is unlocking the front door to an apartment building and they’re climbing stairs to the second floor.

“I apologize for the mess, I didn’t plan for you to come over,” Foggy is breathing out, back turned to Matt as he unlocks his own apartment door.

Matt smells coffee, strawberries, and cedar once Foggy gets the door open and ushers Matt in.

“I’ll start the coffee,” Foggy says as he toes his shoes off in the entryway and walks further into the apartment.

Matt removes his shoes and cautiously moves forward in the unknown space. He concentrates. It’s a small apartment. The living room has the usual cluttered lived-in feeling – a couch, a television, some bookshelves. The kitchen is open concept with a breakfast bar instead of a formal dining room – or at least as far as Matt can tell – he doesn’t sense a kitchen table.

“Oh, shit,” Foggy mutters from the kitchen and then comes back to Matt. “Sorry, I forgot.”

Matt waves the apology away but accepts the elbow as Foggy leads him to the couch. Once he’s sitting, Foggy goes back to the kitchen.

“I would have shuffled and bumped my way around eventually,” Matt says lightheartedly, not wanting Foggy to dwell.

“I prefer my possessions in tact, thank you very much,” Foggy playfully returns. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Lots of sugar, little cream.”

“I knew you tasted sweet.” Foggy pauses and swears. “Shit, that sounded creepy.”

“Not at all,” Matt chuckles and kind of enjoys the amount of times Foggy figuratively puts his foot in his mouth. It’s endearing and keeps the atmosphere fun and relaxed. “You taste like coffee. And chocolate.”

Foggy returns to the couch with two cups. He places them on the coffee table to cool down a bit.

“Interested in another round of dessert?” Foggy asks, coy, and Matt doesn’t hesitate to pull him in for a kiss.

They make out like teenagers for about ten minutes before Foggy is pulling back.

“Stay the night?” Foggy asks between tongues and lips. “Just sleep.”

Matt hesitates for a brief second before peppering kisses down Foggy’s jaw, nips at his earlobe. He moves to Foggy’s neck, brushing his nose against the skin behind Foggy’s ear.

“You look like you could use a good night’s sleep,” Foggy adds.

Matt really could.

~

A month later, Matt is alone in the store when Wilson Fisk enters. Matt knows of Fisk before he ever steps foot in Ramona’s Records. He’s heard rumblings both as Matthew Murdock and Daredevil.

He’s a lot bigger than Matt ever imagined – he has a brief worry that Fisk won’t even be able to fit between the aisles of records - a bull in a china shop, to put it lightly. Fisk manages until he stops in front of the counter. He leans against it and Matt listens to the glass and metal groan softly under the weight.

A much smaller man trails closely behind Fisk and Matt doesn’t get much off the man. A light scent of sweat and toast permeates the man’s suit but that’s about it.

“Mr. Murdock,” Fisk is saying in a loud but hesitant voice.

“Mr. Fisk,” Matt replies tersely.

“Ah,” Fisk nods, pleased by Matt’s two words. “I’m glad you are aware of _who_ I am. That will make things much _simpler_.”

Matt’s fist clenches against his control and he hears the smaller man’s heartbeat stutter on the half-beat before returning to normal. Fisk’s voice is rough and too loud but pulled back in a way that makes Matt think Fisk hates raising his voice but can’t help what was naturally given to him. It’s off-putting in a way Matt never knew before.

“How may I help you?”

The smaller man clears his throat and squeezes past Fisk, who doesn’t move an inch, to hand over a paper-sized envelope to Matt across the counter.

“Mr. Fisk is interested in your store and would like to make an offer.”

Matt hesitates, doesn’t make any move to grab the envelope. He’s impressed that the man’s hand doesn’t waver at all, outstretched and waiting.

“I’m not interested in selling.”

The air shifts into something a little more suffocating. Matt is fairly sure most requests such as this do not require an in-person visit from someone such as Fisk; A lackey or intern would be more appropriate to deliver papers. But, as Fisk stands up straight, Matt realizes this is more of an intimidation tactic.

“Fisk Incorporated will not change a thing about how you run your store, Mr. Murdock,” the smaller man presses, envelope still hanging in the air. “We would like to see the revitalization of Hell’s Kitchen and that begins by keeping local establishments, such as Ramona’s Records, open for the neighborhood’s betterment.”

“We get by just fine.” Fisk is towering over Matt but he refuses to budge an inch, to show any weakness in the face of a bully like him.

“In this economy,” the smaller man continues but pauses as Fisk subtly raises his left hand.

“Wesley, Mr. Murdock is not interested in our proposal.”

The envelope smoothly returns to the smaller man’s – Wesley’s – side and he gives a sharp nod.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Murdock,” Fisk hoarsely says and then leaves the way he came. Wesley pauses, pulls out a business card from his breast pocket, and delicately places it on the counter.

“In case you change your mind.”

They’re gone with a tinkle of the bell and Matt visibly relaxes. His fingers fiddle with the business card, bending the corners slightly, before he tucks it away into his jeans pocket to stash away in the office later.

~

Matt wakes up on his stomach, fists clenched with his thumb tucked inside like he was chosen in the childhood game of Seven Up. Consciously, he relaxes his hands and breathes in deeply. The smell of Foggy and the Chinese food from the night before enter his nostrils.

Slowly, he pushes himself up to not disturb the sleeping form beside him, an inch of space between their arms. Foggy snuffles softly but doesn’t wake as Matt perches himself on the edge of the bed. The hardwood floor is cold on his bare feet but Matt just presses his whole foot down, grounding himself. He listens to the sirens three blocks away and growing softer with every passing second, the raindrops creating symphonies with every new surface it hits, the woman in front of Foggy’s apartment cursing at her dog to just shit already.

Matt should be leaving, slipping out the front door, and heading back to the store. A quick brush of his watch tells him it’s only one in the morning – more than enough time to slip on his gear and head out into the night. Someone out there needs his help, he can feel it in his bones the way arthritis can ache before a bad storm. He can’t laze around in bed while he knows someone could be in danger.

“Matt?” Foggy asks, voice cutting out halfway through the name, still half-asleep.

“Go back to sleep.”

Foggy’s arm slithers across the mattress to brush against Matt’s hip.

“Come back to bed.”

Matt can’t; he needs to go out; he needs to protect those who can’t protect themselves.

Foggy’s fingers twitch at the edge of Matt’s briefs and Matt finds himself sliding back into bed. He curls into Foggy’s warmth and savors the way he feels safe once Foggy wraps an arm around Matt’s torso.

Matt prays for a quiet night.

~

Every morning Matt likes to play the radio in the store - just some news station, the one with the least irritating hosts. He pays attention to the local stories, fades out during the international segments. He has enough trouble staying on top of Hell’s Kitchen he can’t worry about the rest of the world, too, or else he’d go madder than he already is.

The radio is how he finds out about the ten-story apartment building fire. The one clear across Hell’s Kitchen from Foggy’s apartment.

Matt feels the acid in his stomach churning, trying to force it’s way up, and he dry heaves behind the counter. He closes the store for the hour before Karen’s shift starts, unable to keep the dark thoughts at bay.

Karen finds Matt in the back office when she comes in, curled up on the cot underneath the comforter. She doesn’t question, doesn’t say a word, just closes the door and re-opens the store. Her nails are worn to the nub by the time Foggy drops by at lunchtime, just like he does every day.

“Hey Karen,” he says cheerfully, unaware of the dark storm brewing in the back office. “Where’s Matt?”

Karen picks at one of her cuticles and ponders what to tell Foggy – how much of the truth does he deserve to know at this point?”

“He’s in the back but he’s not feeling well,” she says in a rush as Foggy starts to take a couple steps towards the office. He pauses and frowns at her.

“Not feeling well? He seemed fine this morning.”

“Well, you know,” she half-heartedly tries with a wave of her hand. “These things don’t have a timeline.”

“I’ll just pop my head in then, to say hi,” Foggy says and starts again to the back of the store.

“Wait, look, it’s not-“ Karen huffs and Foggy freezes. “It’s not like he’s stomach sick, okay? He just needs to be left alone for a bit.”

This wasn’t the first time Karen had come in for her 11am shift and found the record store shut up. It had only happened a couple times before but that was often enough Karen knew not to bother Matt while he was in a depressive state.

“Oh,” Foggy mutters, eyes flickering between the office door and Karen. “Will he be okay?”

Karen nods and feels a bit bad for Foggy. He seems like a great guy, a guy head over heels for Matt, but he doesn’t know half of what he’s getting into.

“He manages. Some days are just better than others,” she offers, kindly, and Foggy seems a bit dazed as he nods.

“I just,” he half-says to himself before clearing his throat and speaking a bit louder to Karen. “When you see him, could you get him to text me?”

Karen agrees and watches as Foggy wanders out the store and down the street.

~

Matt doesn’t text Foggy. He doesn’t call and he ducks into the back when Foggy stops by. The third day, Matt climbs out the office window moments before Foggy barges in. Matt can’t explain the tightness in his chest he gets every time he thinks about the other man, doesn’t know if he could put it in to words.

Karen gives Matt the silent treatment the fourth day he avoids Foggy after Matt won’t even spill to her. He tries to say it’s private but she doesn’t like being the middleman for them.

Foggy doesn’t show day six and Matt spends most of his day curled up on the cot, switching between having a panic attack and sobbing. He briefly wonders how many customers he’s scared off.

On the eighth day, Matt goes through the motions during the day and releases the Devil at night. He feels more like himself by the time it’s three in the morning and he’s heading back to the store. He ducks behind the dumpster in the alley behind Ramona’s Records as he detects a couple heartbeats passing by on the open street. They pass except for one – it sounds like someone out for a cigarette, leaning up against the front window of the store. Matt goes for the office window, jimmies it open like he’s done a hundred times before, and is halfway in when something grabs his ankle.

“Hey, fucker!”

Matt’s stomach flips as he recognizes Foggy’s voice. Caught off guard, Matt doesn’t have time to grab anything when he’s being yanked back out of the window. He lands heavy on the asphalt, air pushed out of his lungs.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Foggy asks, spitting and heaving from the adrenaline surging through him. Matt can smell whiskey on his breath, from his pores, and wants to gag.

“Leave me alone,” Matt says in his Daredevil voice and pushes himself up into a standing position.

“No way, fucker, you’re breaking and entering.” Foggy pulls out his phone and stumbles backwards a bit. Matt instinctively reaches out to steady him but all he gets is a ‘Don’t touch me’ in response.

“Don’t call the cops,” Matt tries, straightening himself out to seem intimidating.

“Don’t do that,” Foggy replies, most of his concentration on his phone. “I am calling the cops. Once I figure out the number.”

Matt sighs and turns back to the window. He could probably change his clothes by the time Foggy figures out his phone, let alone by the time any actual cops show up. He’s jumping back into the window opening when Foggy’s fingers grab onto the back of his costume and pulls him out again.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” Matt hears from Foggy’s phone and he groans. Matt rips it out of Foggy’s loose hand and holds it up to his face.

“Sorry, ma’am. My friend is drunk and accidentally called you. Sorry for wasting your time.” He hits the end call button before she replies.

“Matt?” Foggy asks, confusion written all over his face. “What the fuck?”

Matt wonders if he could run – if he just ran away at this very second would Foggy remember anything in the morning once he sobered up? With Matt’s luck, Foggy would and would come kicking down every door to get to him.

“Look, go around to the front of the store, I’ll let you in, kay?”

Foggy does a half nod-half shake of his head sort of movement then twists his lips to the side like he doesn’t quite believe Matt actually will.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Matt replies softly.

Foggy nods, a real one this time, and maneuvers his way down the alley towards the front of the store. Matt finally manages to get in through the window and pulls the mask off before going to open the front door, flicking some lights on as he goes.

“You fucker,” Foggy spits as he gets in the store. Matt tries to steel himself as he locks back up.

“Look, Foggy, you’re drunk and I-“

“No, Murdock,” Foggy spins around to face him and poke him in the chest. “You get no say in this conversation.”

Matt meekly nods and fiddles with his gloves.

“What in the world is going on? What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Matt shrugs and wishes he could disappear.

“I’m doing what’s right for this city.”

Foggy gives a hollow laugh and Matt listens to his feet stomp away to the couch. The fabric hisses and pulls as Foggy falls down onto it and slowly Matt follows his lead.

“Will you take that damned costume off?” Foggy snaps before Matt can sit beside him.

Swallowing, Matt nods, feeling like the hushed altar boy he was growing up. He shuffles to the back office and starts stripping. He pulls on the jeans he was wearing before he went out and a sweatshirt. Before heading back to Foggy, he leans his hands against each side of the doorframe and breathes, head bowed, anchoring his thoughts and emotions.

“How long?” Foggy asks once Matt sits next to him on the couch, miles of space between them.

“A week or so after I finished college.”

The silence overwhelms Matt. It’s not a typical silence; he still hears the hissing of pipes, the sounds of rubber on asphalt, murmured conversations from surrounding buildings. He hears more than he ever wanted to and yet he yearns to hear Foggy’s voice, to hear his heartbeat return to a normal rhythm.

“Why?”

Matt picks at his jeans and really thinks about the question, about a suitable answer.

“When I was nine, I was blinded saving a man from being hit by a truck. When I was eleven, my father was killed in the alley behind our apartment. I was sent to an orphanage and a man named Stick found me – trained me to be a warrior.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Matt shakes his head.

“It does. If it weren’t for those defining moments we wouldn’t be here – I wouldn’t be who I am today.”

“And who are you?” Foggy asks in a hushed voice and Matt feels this is another defining moment in his life.

“I’m a man who was given the chance to save lives, to make a difference in this city.”

“How do you do it?”

Matt hears the unsaid question instead – “Are you even blind?”

“My senses were enhanced by the chemicals that blinded me. I can’t see, not like you – I have no light perception. But, my senses more than make up for it. They make up a distorted picture in my brain – where things are, what things are – it’s like a world on fire.”

Foggy snorts and that’s not exactly the response Matt was expecting.

“Don’t be so poetic – it sounds like some sort of echolocation, like bats.”

Matt nods – that’s exactly what it is. Matt becomes a little melodramatic when he’s depressed.

Foggy sounds weary without saying a word. His heart beat sounds heavy, his breathing a little raspy, and his shoulders slumped like the weight of the world sits on them.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Matt laughs at that but cuts it off when he senses the anger returning to Foggy’s body.

“What I do isn’t exactly legal, Foggy. You’re a lawyer, for Christ’s sake.”

“I meant your senses – I understand not being able to confide in me about being an illegal vigilante, which I want to come back to at a later point, but-“ Foggy sighs and the heaviness returns full fold. “You could have told me about the senses. It’s not unheard of for people to accommodate when they lose one.”

“I don’t think you understand, Foggy, it’s not like a normal blind person developing stronger hearing. I can-“ Matt pauses.

“You can what?” Foggy presses and Matt figures he’s already gone past the point of no return on this one.

“I can hear a conversation a couple blocks away. I can – I can hear a person’s heartbeat from across the room.”

Foggy lets out a huff of air in the form of an ‘Oh’.

“I’m not your typical blind guy, Foggy – I’ve come to terms with that and I’m trying to make the best of the situation – but I don’t need the pity or the attention.”

“Why would you listen to someone’s heartbeat?” Foggy asks, seemingly stuck on that train of thought.

“I can determine if someone is lying, if they’re excited or angry – it helps predict behavior.”

As the words leave Matt’s lips, Foggy is standing, pacing in front of the couch.

“You can’t just do that, Matt,” Foggy angrily says, air whooshing around his hands as he moves them in circular patterns. “You can’t just listen to people’s heartbeats without their permission!”

“You think I want to?” Matt yells back, gripping onto the couch edge with whitening knuckles. “You think I want to listen to people two streets down argue about which fucking soap to buy? Or that I want to listen to the multitude of sirens as they rush to help someone I couldn’t? The cries and the screams rise above everything so I’m sorry if I find myself listening to something, anything, to drown it all out!”

Matt can feel the blood rushing up his neck, into his cheeks, and he feels the need to punch something. Instead, he keeps tightening his grip on the couch and breathes nosily through his nose, trying to calm himself down.

Foggy is frozen mid-step, hands hovering in the air, and Matt knows he’s staring at Matt like he’s grown two heads and eight tentacles but Matt can’t focus on that if he wants to return to a point of calm.

“Matt,” Foggy whispers and Matt clenches his eyes shut but it does nothing. He still sees everything, still smells the beer and bleach stained into the carpet under his feet, still hears Foggy’s heart beating rapidly, and it’s times like these that Matt just wants to punch his own fucking face in.

Foggy gently sits back down on the couch and tentatively reaches out a hand towards Matt. His fingertips brush against the sweatshirt at the top of Matt’s back and it’s surprising how much he craves that touch. Matt leans into it and relishes in Foggy’s hand pressed hotly against him.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says quietly and slowly lets his hands relax, the blood rushing back into his fingers.

They sit together, breathing each other in for what feels like a lifetime to Matt but he’s pretty sure is only a minute.

Foggy’s hand disappears from Matt’s back as he says, “Why were you ignoring me? What happened?”

Matt doesn’t move, pauses his breath, and shrinks into the world around him.

“Did I do something wrong?” Foggy presses, insecure and shy.

“No. Foggy, I-“ Matt is tired. “It’s not you, I just.”

Matt can’t bring himself to say anything. Doesn’t know entirely what to say. He heard sirens, knew people were in trouble, but instead of helping them he went back to bed, curled up in his boyfriend’s arms. He turned his back on people who needed him, people who were probably hoping, in their last moments, that Daredevil would save them like he had their cousin or their sister. And when he didn’t come, when their last breath was rattling through their lungs, did they think ‘Why not me? Why do I deserve to die?’ and it eats Matt up from the inside out.

To Foggy’s credit, he doesn’t push. He waits and Matt knows he doesn’t deserve him.

“The apartment fire.” Foggy nods. He and everyone else in the city knew of it. “I heard the sirens, I knew someone was in trouble. But I thought…”

Foggy’s hand returns to Matt’s shoulder and he wants to turn in like a flower to the sun but instead he curls away, undeserved of it.

“I thought it wasn’t too serious – official help was on the way. So I stayed in bed.” Matt doesn’t need to elaborate with who – Foggy’s heartbeat, his stuttered breath, tells Matt he knows.

“Are you blaming me?” Foggy whispers, horrified.

“No, Foggy, no, not you-“

Foggy stands, ripping away from Matt’s side.

“It was my fault,” Matt pleads and he can feels sobs starting to wrack through his body. He tries to keep them at bay, hands falling through air to clench at Foggy’s retreating body.

“I need to go home.”

“Foggy, it was my fault, not yours, I let myself get too close, too soft.”

Tears are falling and Matt has slipped off the couch in pursuit of Foggy, knees cushioned by beer stained carpet, of memories.

Foggy doesn’t respond, not verbally. Physically, Matt can smell the heat and alcohol radiating off Foggy’s body, the sweat building from his eccrine glands. He listens to the fabric of Foggy’s clothes vibrating as the man shakes from anger, to the sound of sneakers against looped carpet thread as he makes his way to the front of the store.

Matt follows, stumbling to his feet, wanting to feel Foggy against him again.

“Foggy, please.”

“I need some time, Matt.” Foggy’s fingers move through the air, but never make contact with whatever he was intending to touch. “To think.”

Matt knows a break up when he hears one. He wants to say something like, ‘It was nice knowing you’ or even ‘Please, I need you’ but Foggy doesn’t deserve that – doesn’t deserve a begging mess like Matt.

Instead, Matt just cries, trembling in the door long after Foggy has left. He knows Foggy doesn’t look back; he desperately listened for the swish of hair that never came.

~

Matt doesn’t hear from Foggy for a week and his music dips into the depressing state that matches his mood. Karen tries to make jokes but they fall flat on deaf ears.

The following Saturday, Matt opens the store with slumped shoulders and bags under his eyes. Randy, a kid from the local high school who volunteers for extra credit or something, joins Matt an hour later. He, thankfully, doesn’t comment on Matt’s mood or appearance until he’s finished stocking the new albums and re-organize the small CD selection they have.

“Are you okay?” Randy asks and Matt just nods. His hair hangs in his face and Matt can’t remember the last time he stopped by Karen’s to take a shower. He can’t really remember a whole lot from the past week.

The Smiths play melancholy on the overhead speakers and Matt droops further down onto the counter he’s half lying on. He can’t wait for Karen’s shift to start so he can spend another ten hours underneath the covers.

“Matt,” Randy is trying again, this time closer. “What’s wrong? You’ve been in this weird slump.”

Matt breathes out hot breath, feels it create a patch of condensation on the glass counter just below his lips. He’s tired of people asking what’s wrong. The regulars ask. Karen texts him twenty times an hour. Matt’s just grateful his mother isn’t in his life or else that would be even more unbearable.

“Go home, Randy,” Matt mutters.

Randy is obviously startled but then quickly gets angry.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do at home?”

“Language,” Matt says with no emotion behind it, lays his head down on his crossed arms.

“Matt, I’m not going home.”

Matt sighs and doesn’t respond. He’s ready to go curl up and die behind some dumpster where he belongs.

The bell above the door rings as someone enters and Matt desperately hopes its Karen. The first few days after Foggy left Matt had desperately hoped it was Foggy every time the bell dinged. It never was.

“Randy, go home.”

Matt lets out the air from his lungs he didn’t realize he was holding as soon as Karen’s voice registers in his dazed brain.

Randy swears again but grabs his backpack from beside Matt’s feet and leaves.

“Matt,” Karen is continuing. “Go to my place and take a shower – you’re starting to leave grease marks.”

Matt pushes himself up off the counter with shaky arms and starts towards the office.

“I’m just going to go sleep, first,” he says and shuts the door behind him. He ignores every sign radiating off Karen that she’s pissed.

~

Matt still goes out every night – the people of Hell’s Kitchen don’t deserve to suffer like him. He ends the nights with more bruises and injuries than typical and yet he can’t find it within himself to care.

His body aches, he can’t quite connect his punches, but he remains scrappy and continues to get up. The physical pain dulls his mental anguish for small periods of time; the adrenaline pushes him through the shakes. He’s running on fumes and he wonders what will eventually keep him down – a low-level thug or his own body.

A small voice in his head keeps yelling at him to drag himself out of the funk he’s in, that he doesn’t deserve to live like this, but then a hoarse voice drowns it out with insults and jabs. Matt usually ends his nights curled under the covers with the thoughts of ‘you deserve this’ swirling in his head.

On the tenth day of radio silence from Foggy, Matt gets stabbed in the side. He knew the guy had a knife but he hadn’t been able to disarm him quick enough. Matt leaves the guy unconscious in an alley as he hobbles his way five buildings over to an apartment with a sitcom playing on the television.

“Shit,” Claire breathes out when she catches a glimpse of him through the window. Matt stays silent as she ushers him in and begins carefully pulling the suit off. “What the fuck happened?”

Matt shrugs and allows himself to be pushed down onto the couch. Soft noises of pain escape his lips as Claire cleans the wound before starting to stitch it up.

“I haven’t seen you in awhile,” Claire comments and Matt thinks it’s more for her benefit than his. “I thought you were taking better care of yourself.”

He doesn’t dare move while she’s in the middle of pulling thread from skin so he makes an unhappy noise from the back of his throat. Her deft hands pause before continuing to suture up the wound.

“Is everything okay?” she asks softly. Matt doesn’t respond. He focuses on the television and the generic laugh track he could pinpoint to at least another hundred shows.

Claire finishes up, bandaging up the area loosely to allow it to breathe. She sits up straight on the coffee table and Matt can feel her eyes roaming every inch of him. It’s calculated and unnerving.

“If you ever need anything-“ she starts, fingers grazing Matt’s knee. He stands up abruptly, cutting her off, and pulling on the suit despite the tugging pain in his side.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Claire huffs out, anger taking over her bedside manner. “But what do I know. I’m just the girl who keeps your insides where they belong.”

Matt balls his hands into fists and takes a deep breath.

“Talk to someone, Matt,” Claire tries again, voice once again soft and honest. “Before you end up killing yourself.”

He gives a jilted nod before heading back out the window. Perching himself on the roof across the way, he listens as Claire cleans up the medical supplies, bagging some of the equipment to bring in for sterilization. She mutters the entire time about idiot vigilantes and even bigger idiot blind guys who she knows is still listening.

Matt retreats to the store for some much needed REM sleep instead of the restless naps he’s managed to get in.

~

It’s halfway through week two and he doesn’t know how much more of Morrissey he can listen to. He switches to pop and he knows that worries Karen more than it should.

“At least it doesn’t sound depressing,” he tries one day when she comes in to work with a sigh.

“I’d rather listen to Elliot Smith than Taylor Swift.”

Matt pauses in the middle of writing out Death From Above 1979 in the inventory book.

“Taylor gets my pain.”

“Taylor creates your pain.”

Matt shakes his head and goes back to his careful writing.

“Put something else on, then. I don’t care, just no more Morrissey.”

“Amen to that,” Karen mutters as she puts her purse in the back office.

Karen puts on her playlist, which she tells him is titled ‘Ways to Cheer Up Matt Without Being Taylor Swift’. The first song is Beyoncé. Matt can get behind that.

They work throughout the morning without speaking, enjoying each other’s company for the first time in a while. Matt actually offers to venture out and grab lunch for the two and he thinks Karen might have died from shock the way her whole body freezes. She tries to recover quickly and asks for a burger from Shake Shack almost eight blocks away. Matt pretends to protest but looks forward to the walk and long line.

He returns forty minutes later to a stony Karen. And the day had started out not so half bad.

“What’s wrong?” he asks as he places the greasy takeout bag on the counter.

“I found this,” Karen says and hands over a small piece of cardstock. The card left behind by Wesley.

“Where did you find this?”

He runs his fingers over the bent edges; over the slightly worn lettering from the amount of times he’s touched it.

“I was trying to find the receipt paper in the back when I saw it half sticking out of your record shelf.”

Matt had shoved it hastily between Rock N Roll High School and Lazaretto the night before. The sound of a little girl crying had startled him.

“Why do you have this?” Karen asks in hushed tones, afraid of whatever answer Matt could give.

“They came in a while ago looking to buy.” Matt hears the hitch in Karen’s breath. “I told them I wasn’t interested.”

“But you’ve been considering.”

Karen’s smart. She could see how worn out the card was becoming. She could read his thoughts in every crack and bend.

“For a while there, I was considering anything that popped into my head.” Matt ignores the jackhammer of Karen’s heart at those words. Karen is smart. “But I’m not interested.”

Karen rushes from behind the counter to envelop Matt in a bone-crushing hug. He feels her tears on his shirt collar soaking through to his skin. He feels the tremble in her body as she whispers how much he means to her; how much he means to everybody he knows.

“I’m not interested,” he repeats through thick saliva, his own tears threatening to spill.

“You better not be, Murdock,” Karen says as she moves to press her forehead against his.

After thirty-eight seconds (Matt counts), Karen fully pulls away and turns to the bag on the counter, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

“Let’s eat,” she says with a steady voice.

~

Foggy stops by the store exactly seventeen days after he last left. Matt isn’t around.

“That’s probably for the best,” Foggy tells Karen who simultaneously wants to punch and hug the man.

“I hope you have your head on straight,” she threatens but it’s only half-hearted. Foggy looks tired, dark circles under his eyes, his tie on crooked, and long hair a bit tangled. To his co-workers he probably looks like he’s working a tough case – to Karen he looks more or less the same as Matt.

“I wouldn’t be here, otherwise.”

Karen nods, picks at her cuticles in the silence.

“How is he?” Foggy quietly asks and Karen’s shoulders hunch up slightly.

“Better. He-“ Karen swallows, tries to keep the tears at bay every time she thinks about how close they maybe were to losing Matt. “He’s doing a lot better now.”

Foggy nods, hands in his pockets, eyes turn down.

“He’ll be back in an hour,” she offers.

“Can you just make sure he gets this?” Foggy pulls out a USB stick from his pocket and places it on the counter, fingers lingering in case he changes his mind. “He doesn’t have to listen to it if he doesn’t want to. I just. I want him to know it’s there.”

Karen nods, places her hand on top of the one Foggy left on the counter.

“I’ll make sure he gets it.”

~

Matt holes himself up in the office with the USB once he gets back. His screen reader tells him there are two files simply labeled _1_ and _2_. He opens the first one and there’s a crackle before Foggy’s voice fills his headphones.

“ _Hey, Matt. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry and I hope that you can forgive me. I-_ “Matt listens to how Foggy licked his lips, swallowed, took a deep breath. “ _I want to be with you no matter what else that entails and I hope you still want to be with me. I’m not typically one for mushy mix tapes but this seemed apropos so… Enjoy._ ”

Music starts playing and Matt can’t help the grin that overcomes his face. He spends the next few hours lying in his bunk, listening to the mix. As soon as it’s done he plays it again. It isn’t until the fourth listen that he remembers there’s another file.

There’s no pre-ramble and Matt is a bit disappointed. His favorite part of the first mix had been Foggy’s voice. Soft guitar filters into the headphones. It isn’t until the woman gets to the chorus and starts softly singing, “fuck me” repeatedly that Matt gets the tone.

Matt feels his whole body blushing and becoming more pronounced as each song plays. Foggy handpicked every song to detail what he wanted to do to Matt, what he wanted Matt to do to him, and Matt can’t help the blood rushing south at those thoughts.

By the sixth song, Matt unbuttons his jeans and shoves his hand down them, squeezing his dick and arching into the touch. He imagines that it’s Foggy’s hand instead, learning the feel of Matt for the first time – learning what makes Matt moan, what makes his toes curl. Matt won’t last long, biting his lip to keep the stream of obscenities and Foggy’s name from spilling out. The cot shifts with every stroke he makes and a small bead of sweat makes it’s way from his forehead down towards the pillow. He thinks of Foggy’s weight pressing down on him, of Foggy inside of him, and that’s the final straw. Matt tenses, free hand fisting his shirt, cum spurting out and creating a wet stain in his pants.

Matt relaxes back into the cot, breathing hard through his noise, trying to stay quiet. Karen is still in the store and he pushes the headphones off one ear, focuses on what she’s doing instead of what he’s just done. She hums along to the song playing overhead, tapping her toes to the beat, and Matt sighs in relief. Karen didn’t hear him and if his right hand weren’t sticky and gross he probably would’ve crossed himself.

He cleans himself up, pauses the mix still playing, and pulls on clean underwear and jeans. Checking the time, he sees it’s only four in the afternoon. He feels good, content, and happier than he has been in a while. He doesn’t chalk it up to his orgasm although it probably did help.

Stepping out in the store, smoothing down his hair a bit, Karen turns to look at him. He hears her heartbeat speed up slightly.

“Hey there, stranger,” she offers him without moving from her spot behind the counter.

“Hey there, crazy,” he replies like he’s done on so many occasions before any of this started.

“So,” she continues, going back to whatever she was looking at. “How are you going to win him back?”

Matt shrugs and wishes he had some coffee.

“I don’t really know, actually. Call him?”

“You can’t do that.”

Matt pauses on his way closer to her.

“What?”

Karen sighs as if Matt is a child who keeps asking why.

“You can’t just call him – you have to do a grand gesture.”

Matt continues on his path, his mind starting to calculate if he can afford a run to the local Starbucks for a sugary, chocolate-filled drink with whip on top.

“This isn’t a movie, Karen,” Matt says and reaches for the little plastic piggy bank they have stored underneath the counter. It’s his emergency coffee fund filled with change people have left behind.

“No, it’s not, but it’s very obvious you’re the John Cusack in this situation and you need to go hold a boom box outside of Foggy’s window.”

Matt pauses in trying to get the little plug in the pig’s stomach out.

“You do realize John Cusack is an actor? Who played a crazy obsessive stalker in High Fidelity? And didn’t actually do any of that in real life?”

Karen pulls the pig from Matt’s hands and pops the plug out easily for him.

“Say Anything,” Karen replies when she hands it back over to him.

“What?”

“The boom box thing is from Say Anything not High Fidelity. He’s not crazy in Say Anything.”

“He kind of is,” Matt points out and dumps the change out onto the counter. Karen’s indignant ‘hey’ must mean he got it on whatever she was looking at.

“Look, all I’m saying is-“

“Is that you want me to do a grand gesture,” Matt interrupts as he feels out a couple quarters. “I understand perfectly but I am not that guy. Besides, _In Your Eyes_ is not really an appropriate song.”

Karen huffs out a breath and starts helping him count out the change.

“You could be. And you would obviously choose a different song.”

“I’m not,” Matt says, getting a bit annoyed with her. “Look, I am going to get some coffee and head over to his place, okay? And we’ll talk. Like normal people.”

“Fine,” Karen mutters. “But you could at least get him some coffee, too.”

Matt agrees and manages to scrape together enough change to do just that.

~

Matt lingers outside Foggy’s apartment door, a Starbucks cup in each hand. Lingering, or even procrastinating, is really all that Matt is doing. He can hear Foggy moving around inside and yet Matt just stands there hesitating.

As he finally (for the fourth or fifth time) raises a hand to knock the apartment door swings open and a rush of air hits Matt full in the face. Part of is the equilibration of air between apartment and hallway; part of it is from the gasp of surprise from Foggy’s mouth.

“Matt? What are you doing here?”

“Uhm,” Matt mutters intelligently and then holds up the Starbucks cups. “Coffee?”

Foggy is silent and Matt realizes the awkward stance he’s in. One arm up in the air, shrugging on a jacket, frozen in place at the presence of Matt.

“Oh, you’re going out.” Matt winces and berates himself. “Right, sorry, I should have called, of course. I’ll just be on my way.”

Matt turns to leave but pauses. He shoves the extra coffee into Foggy’s free hand and spins around to begin his sprint away.

“Wait, no,” Foggy quickly calls. “No, come in, I’m not going anywhere.”

Matt turns his face in the direction of Foggy and makes a ‘yeah, right’ face.

“Okay, well, I’m not going anywhere _anymore_. Please, come in.”

True to Foggy’s word, he awkwardly pulls the jacket off, careful not to spill his coffee and stands aside for Matt to enter. Hesitantly, Matt does. It’s an uncomfortable silence as the apartment door shuts behind them. Matt picks at the cardboard sleeve on the cup as Foggy takes a small sip of his.

“I got your mix,” Matt finally says, trying to get back on track for the conversation he had planned while in line for coffee and on the walk over to Foggy’s apartment.

“Did you like it?” Foggy asks and it’s a nervous hopefulness. Matt grins.

“I loved it. Although,” Matt pauses and listens to the breath caught in Foggy’s lungs, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Selena Gomez?”

Foggy huffs out a chuckle and the two of them move further into the apartment, towards the couch.

“Hey, what can I say? Whoever writes her songs knows what they’re talking about.”

“And you’re ok with using a song meant for Justin Bieber?”

They’re both smiling, laughing, as they perch themselves on the couch. This is going a lot better than Matt thought it would. All of his fake conversations usually ended with a door in his face, or maybe even a punch in the face.

“I think my main concern is how much you know about Selena Gomez and Justin Bieber.”

Matt chuckles into his coffee and ducks his head.

“Karen likes to watch TMZ – I usually end up getting roped into listening.”

“I like my trash TV but even I don’t watch TMZ.”

“She supplies the beer,” Matt says with a shrug.

The silence between them returns, this time a little more relaxed. They drink their coffee, both searching for the words to say.

“I’m sorry,” Matt offers. “For everything. About avoiding you, and lying, and then being a dick, and-“

“Matt,” Foggy cuts him off with a soft but gentle voice. “We could sit here all day apologizing for how big of assholes we’ve both been but I’d rather skip that part for now.”

“Oh.” Matt ducks his head.

“Yeah, I’d rather just know if you want to try again. Because, if you hadn’t noticed from my amazing mix – I would really love to do that.”

Matt turns his grin towards Foggy, the genuine one that sometimes breaks his face apart because he can’t help it, and listens to Foggy’s heart stutter before ramping up full force.

“Yes, absolutely.”


	2. Ramona's Records - Playlist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a playlist to go along with the story, Ramona's Records. It contains any song mentioned in the story as well as any song I had in mind when music is referenced in it.

Track Listing

**Ramona** -  _The Ramones_

 **About A Burning Fire** -  _Blindside_

 **As Bad As This** -  _Styx_

 **Inheritance** -  _Talk Talk_

 **Church On Sunday** -  _Green Day_

 **Unfinished Business** -  _White Lies_

 **How To Be A Heartbreaker** -  _Marina and the Diamonds_

 **Holland, 1945** -  _Neutral Milk Hotel_

 **Kanye** -  _The Chainsmokers_

 **Graceland** -  _Paul Simon_

 **Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before** -  _The Smiths_

 **I Know It's Over** -  _The Smiths_

 **I've Changed My Plea To Guilty**  -  _Morrissey_

 **Oh Well, OK** -  _Elliott Smith_

 **Hurricane** -  _MS MR_

 **I Knew You Were Trouble** -  _Taylor Swift_

 **Black History Month** -  _Death From Above 1979_

 **Flawless** -  _Beyonce_

 **Rock n' Roll High School** -  _The Ramones_

 **High Ball Stepper** -  _Jack White_

 **Waiting For Love** -  _Avicii_ _  
_

**In Your Eyes** -  _Peter Gabriel_

[(LISTEN)](http://8tracks.com/letsgetfamous/ramona-s-records)


	3. Foggy's Mix #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Foggy's first mix for Matt.

Track Listing

**Introductory Movement** -  _Yann Tiersen_

**Think Of You -** _Bleached_

**Head First** -  _Goldfrapp_

 **All For You** -  _Loud Luxury feat. Kaleena Zanders_

 **Night Like This** -  _LP_

 **Kiss Me Quick** -  _Nathan Sykes_

 **Laura Palmer** -  _Bastille_

 **Be My Forever** -  _Christina Perri feat. Ed Sheeran_

 **The Heart Wants What It Wants** -  _Selena Gomez_

 **Stay** -  _Rihanna feat. Mikky Ekko_

 **Just Breathe** -  _Pearl Jam_

[(LISTEN)](http://8tracks.com/letsgetfamous/just-for-the-record-i-love-you)

 


	4. Foggy's Mix #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Foggy's second mix for Matt.

Track Listing

**Fuck Me** -  _Yann Tiersen_

 **Flesh** -  _Simon Curtis_

 **Lover** -  _Devendra Banhart_

 **Come Over** -  _Estelle_

 **Shiver Shiver** -  _Walk The Moon_

 **Skin** -  _Rihanna_

 **Closer** -  _Tegan and Sara_

 **Kiwi** -  _Maroon 5_

 **Ooh La La** -  _Goldfrapp_

 **Tony The Beat** -  _The Sounds_

[(LISTEN)](http://8tracks.com/letsgetfamous/i-m-like-a-lawyer-with-the-way-i-m-always-trying-to-get-you-off)

 


End file.
